Shield and Sword
by Lea of Mirkwood
Summary: One tiny decision made by Boromir, Captain of Gondor, changes his entire life and that of those around him. As his companions leave him for dead, he struggles to regain his life and quest.
1. Boating Mischief

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Shield and Sword

Lea of Mirkwood

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. J.R.R. Tolkien (allhailthelordofArdaandallthingsgoodandholy…)owns Arda and everything in it. Boromir's antics in the boat belong to Sean Bean. A lot of what Boromir and Legolas say and all is taken exactly from things Bean, Bloom and Viggo have said.

Summary: One tiny decision made by Boromir, Captain of Gondor, changes his entire life and that of those around him. As his companions leave him for dead, he struggles to regain his life and quest.

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The waters of the Anduin were so clear, so blue, thought Boromir. It almost took his mind away from the journey. He had not been this far up the Great River in all his forty-one years. The great trees rose up on either side of them and beyond that spread the wide sky. Little tufts of clouds barely marred the fathomless expanse. The Captain of Gondor turned his attention back to paddling, at a stern look from the hobbit Meriadoc. Boromir returned the look and moved his paddle again, awkwardly. He had never quite been able to handle a boat as well as his brother, and had been woefully resigned to paddling in circles when he was younger. Now the Fellowship had taken up the duty – in the absence of Faramir – of being better at boating than he. Even Merry was better than him at boat-handling. To his right he saw the Elf, Legolas, rowing along majestically, while the Captain of Gondor's boat was wiggling back and forth in the water and the Captain cursing. Boromir saw the Elf smile slightly at his plight. Boromir scowled.

"Merry," he muttered. "Help me get next to the Elf's boat."

"Which one?" asked the hobbit innocently, looking up at Boromir with wide eyes.

"What?" hissed Boromir, momentarily taken aback. "What other Elf-

"These were all an Elf's boats," explained Merry cheekily. "They were made by the Elves."

Boromir poked the hobbit in the back.

"Curse it, Merry, you know what I mean!"

"I know."

The boat drew ominously nearer to Legolas and Gimli's boat. Boromir leaned forward in the long wooden frame and extended his oar until it nearly poked the bow (rhymes with wow, not with go) of the other boat. Just as Legolas turned his head, Boromir gave the Elven boat a solid shove and it spun off to the side, turning sideways. The current flipped the bow back to the correct position, but now Legolas and Gimli had to struggle to stop it from drifting sideways.

"Legolas!" yelled Aragorn loudly. "What are you doing? Stay on course!"

Legolas sputtered indignantly. "I didn't do anything! It's Boromir, he's pushing me off course!"

"Boromir!"

Boromir straightened up and tried to contain his laughter. "Yes, Aragorn?"

Pippin, sitting behind Boromir, tried unsuccessfully to hide peals of laughter.

"Is this true?"

"Yes mother," squeaked Pippin, then burst out laughing again, Merry having to clap him on the back.

"I was just giving his boat a little nudge," explained Boromir, swatting at the hobbits behind his back. Aragorn sent the erring Captain a stern look.

"See it doesn't happen again."

Legolas sent Boromir a dark look once his boat had straightened back out. "_Hannon le_," he said, with a deep tone of sarcasm not usually found in an Elf's voice.

He _must_ have learned it from Aragorn.

"You're quite welcome," replied Boromir, having picked up a few Elvish phrases after their long stay in the Golden Wood. He shivered at the memory. _Lothlórien…_ He turned back around and looked at Pippin, who was sitting with Boromir's shield in his lap, tracing the metal edge. His small halfling fingers traced the tiny runes embossed into the trim. He looked up at Boromir suddenly, his light eyes curious.

"Is this quite old?"

Boromir nodded. "Very. It was once my father's. He carried it into battle when we were at constant war with the Haradrim. You see that place here?" he asked, pointing out a dent. Pippin nodded. "That arrow was meant for my father's heart."

Pippin looked up at Boromir in awe. "Was he very brave?"

"Very," answered Boromir, sweeping his paddle through the water again. "I hope never to face down an arrow aimed for my heart, myself."

"Nor I," shivered Merry. "Terrible thought. What a fate."

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Loud gnashing of teeth, a foul curse. Pain, indescribable pain. Cold, hot. Choking sensation, like drowning. _Blood dripping down through linen undershirt, soaking the skin. Coughing blood. Pounding pain. Strange sound like arrow hitting-_

Boromir gasped and jerked back with a cry.

"Boromir!" cried Merry, grabbing his leather jerkin and yanking him upright again. Boromir shook his head, his eyes dilated with pure terror and shock. "Are you all right?"

Boromir blinked hard and pressed his hands to his forehead. Finally the feeling of irrational terror subsided and the throbbing pain in his head faded to a dull ache.

"Yes," he said, breathing hard as if after a long run. "Yes. I am fine now."

--- --- ---

I like the short chapter format. It seems a little less daunting. Maybe later when I really get into the swing of things I'll make the chapters longer, but I sort of wanted this to get out there. This will not be an oft updated fic, I warn you now. This is just a muse thing. One of my muses told em to write it and I did. It's just going to be something I write when I have an absolutely perfect idea of what will happen. This is unequivocally based on the books. Reviews are much loved, for I find I am a feedback slug. Feed me reviews, I become happy, I write.


	2. Dark Dreams

Shield and Sword

Chapter Two

Lea of Mirkwood

Disclaimer still applies.

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February 20, 3019

Boromir, Captain of Gondor and sword arm of the White Tower, stood on the bank of the Anduin facing the water with his arms hugged to his chest. His hair brushed against his cheek, brushed there by the sudden wind, warm at first. Boromir felt a cold wind rise off of the water and shivered. Strange. Spring should be coming along soon, and he shouldn't be feeling this cold. Cold, cold, cold. The wind had been warm a moment ago and now it felt like ice. He turned to face the rest of the Company.

"Is it cold to anyone else as well?" he asked, rubbing his palms together. Legolas looked up from his pack.

"No, Boromir," he said with a puzzled look. "It is warm here, I can almost feel a summer breeze."

Aragorn cast him a dark and wary look before wiping down his sword blade. He then placed it in the finely wrought sheath gifted to him by the lady Galadriel. The fading sunlight gleamed off of the gems on the fine leather. As he sat down on the stone near the fire, his hand moved of its own accord to lightly touch the green stone on his breast. Boromir felt resentment welling up deep inside him, but still a wonder and reverence for Aragorn's noble manner kept him from acknowledging his resentment. He turned away and looked back across the river. So calm. The water flowed past like forever. It never faltered, and when it did fall it flowed again. 

Boromir picked up a twig from the shore and threw it out into the middle of the river. The sunset, flickering like flames on the water's surface, revealed the twig tipping as it hit and being pulled down into the river's strong current. Not so calm. Not for the first time, Boromir wondered what would have happened had his brother been the one to go to Imladris (I claim this plotbunny!!!). He probably would have liked to see the Elves. He would have appreciated more the countless books of lore held within the walls and rooms of Imladris under the care of Lord Elrond. Perhaps his brother would not care for the Ring. It would be so like Faramir to be noble like that. But what of the Ring? Boromir turned away from the water. The calm feeling that came when looking at it had betrayed him. It had calmed him into relaxing too much. Thinking about the Ring was something he had forbidden himself to do. But what of it? He sat down by the fire, eating Samwise's food as though nothing was wrong. What of the Ring? He cast a glance at Frodo, across the fire. He watched Sam as the earnest and kind hobbit patted Frodo's shoulder and pressed a bowl of soup into his hands. Frodo shook his head listlessly and looked away, as if the sight of food sickened him. What of the Ring? Aragorn rose from the fireside and bent down next to Frodo, speaking softly. Boromir caught scattered words.

"Frodo, you will need your strength. We have a long way yet to go."

The Ranger stood back up and went to stare off into the woods again. Frodo made a face and took a few bites, but when no one was looking he dumped the rest of his food into Pippin's bowl. Boromir chuckled softly.

"Frodo?" he said quietly. The hobbit's head snapped up guiltily, and the hint of childish mischief returned. Sometimes Boromir caught Frodo playing small tricks on his cousins, or looking up when his name was called as though he were being caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Now was one of those times.

"Why do you not eat?" he asked. "Here," said Boromir, reaching into his pocket. "I believe I got this piece of candy from one of Haldir's brothers."

He pulled out a piece of honey candy, wrapped in a mallorn leaf of its own. Frodo reached over and took it from Boromir's much larger hand and unwrapped it. He looked up at the Captain warily.

"I am no child, Boromir," he said flatly. "I am a full nine years your senior."

Boromir smiled. "I know this. But you are not eating, and I don't care how old anyone is, candy is always tempting."

Frodo studied Boromir for another moment, and then took a bite of the candy, grinning at his companion. Aragorn sent Boromir an approving look and Sam beamed as Frodo finished off the bit of sugary candy and licked his fingers. (The most adorable visual.)

But what of the Ring?

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Boromir dreamed of the Ring that night. He dreamed of its silky golden color, and the richness of the tone, like velvet. He dreamed of the smooth gold and dreamed of holding it in his hand. But in his dream, as he looked down at the small circle of sunlight in his palm, he felt something in his chest and heard that same fearsome noise. Gnashing teeth and the Dark Tongue. The impact of something hitting his chest and burning. He looked down and saw arrows piercing his chest, and blood running down his front. He moved his hand to the front of his jerkin and felt warm wetness. Pulling his hand back, he saw the Ring was now sitting in a pool of his own blood. He screamed and woke with a start, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He sat straight up and looked around in terror. From the rock by the waterside, Legolas slowly turned to look at him, his eyes glittering like the stars. He and Boromir locked eyes. Could Legolas see his thoughts? His breath gradually slowed, the sight of the calm and serene Elf slowing his terror.

But what of the Ring?

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Look at me, I wrote something!

Sooo bright....so beautiful...our review button.


	3. Other paths we might take

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Shield and Sword

Chapter Three

Lea of Mirkwood

Disclaimer still applies.

A/N: Spot the terrible pun!

A/N2: Yes, this is the scene in the Extended DVD. I know this is based on the books, but I think it's just too perfect of a scene to pass up. The interaction and the mood is just perfect for this scene.

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The boats made a gritty crunching noise when the prow was dragged up on the beach. Boromir shifted his grip on the rim of the wooden side and gave another heave. His nightmares had been getting worse. The last night he had needed to walk away from the company to get back his composure. Now, it seemed that the farther he journeyed from Lothlórien, the worse they got. Now they were coming during the day now, at times. He would look down at his chest and see a shiny redness for a split second.

"Boromir!" said Aragorn sharply. Boromir's head snapped up quickly.

"Yes?" he replied, then realizing he had been standing dumbly by the boat, staring at the oars. Chastened, he turned back and walked over to the camp. Within a matter of moments, the company was settled as the sun lowered beneath the horizon. Boromir sat down heavily on a log nearby. The night grew dark, and all around him the moon shone little. It was as if he was under a blanket of clouds, and the only thing he felt was the misty fog. He did not know how long he sat there, but he did know that after a time he heard something other than the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore. Boromir stood up, his heavy boots making little noise on the rough, gravelly beach. He peered around the edge of a rock and looked out at the River. Near the opposite shore he watched an innocent looking log drift along. But it was going faster than the current. Just as he was wondering about logs and their drift speed, he saw a long arm reach out and paddle at the water, and two lamplike eyes glinted in the moonlight. Boromir watched in fascination.

"Gollum. He has tracked us since Moria. I had hoped we would lose him on the River, but he is too clever a waterman," said Aragorn unexpectedly from behind the Captain. Boromir cocked his head and stared closely at the log, now bumping innocuously against the opposite bank. It looked like nothing was there. Suspicion filled his heart.

"And if he leads the enemy to our whereabouts, it will make the crossing even more dangerous."

Behind him he heard Frodo and Sam arguing about something, but Boromir wasn't thinking about them. His thoughts were concerning Gondor, and Gollum. He turned away from the River and walked quietly over to Aragorn.

"Minas Tirith is the safer road," he said in a low voice, making the Ranger turn in surprise. "You know that. From there we can regroup!"

Aragorn was looking at him with a look of pity and contempt, which Boromir could not abide. His voice grew a note more desperate.

"Strike out to Mordor from a place of strength!"

"There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us," replied the other with perfect calm. Boromir felt hot fury rise in him, and his calm left him.

"You were quick enough to trust the Elves!" he shot back. Shock clouded his voice. "Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness, there is frailty, there is courage also and honor to be found in men! But you will not see that!"

Aragorn sighed and turned away from him. It was more than Boromir could bear. He grabbed Aragorn's arm and whirled him around, fisting the front of his tunic in his hand.

"You are afraid!" he growled. "All your life, you're hiding in the shadows, scared of _who_ you are, of _what_ you are!"

Aragorn looked in Boromir's grey eyes silently, and turned away again. This time Boromir did not try to stop him. But then Aragorn turned back to him and leaned close.

"I would not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city," he spat.

--- --- ---

Boromir was sulking.

They were rowing along the River again, and he was sulking. He didn't really mean to be overtly sulking, but Pippin had pointed it out to him quite cheekily a few moments before. So apparently he was sulking obviously. He shot another glare over at Aragorn's boat. The heir of Isildur was rowing along calmly. Always calm, always serene. It was annoying. So he was sulking.

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No, sorry. No dark reminders of Boromir's death here. I thought this scene was just perfect when they put it in the extended, and I love how they just cut right to a scene of Boromir sulking.

Yes, I did write this in a teeny little window next to a RealPlayer window playing this scene. Don't accuse me of inaccuracy! 


	4. Close calls at Sarn Gebir

Shield and Sword

Lea of Mirkwood

Disclaimer: Same as always.

A/N: Yeah, boring so far. You might as well watch the movie and see the books thus far, except for some little visions and a few bit of dialogue. But I promise, the plot will take off soon. I swear. Really. (I just had to put this in because it's such a suspenseful scene and I wish they'd put it in the movie.) Just have to get to Amon Hen first...then it will be "hello, plot!"

A/N: No, I'm not listening to the audio to the Two Towers that Becky burned on a CD for me... "NO!" "Stop it! Leave him alone! Don't you understand? He's got to destroy it! That's where we're goin'! To Mordor! To the mountain of fire!" "Osgiliath is under attack. They call for reinforcements." "Please...it's such a burden. Will you not help him?"

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They traveled by night, the stars shimmering on the water and light clouds marring the horizon. Their distorted reflections shimmered on the glassy water. Boromir sliced his paddle through the water again with renewed determination. Why couldn't they use it? Boromir fleetingly for the serenity and calm his brother possessed. Aragorn had proved before that if Boromir yelled louder, Aragorn would close his ears tighter. Figuratively. The boats shoved and bumped together, and Boromir shot a sulking glare at the back of Aragorn's head. He still had not forgiven him for that little jab about not leading the Ring "within a thousand leagues of your City."

"It's your city as well," he mumbled.

"What did you say, Boromir?" asked Pippin cheekily. Boromir shook his head.

"Nothing, Pippin, nothing."

Boromir's boat clunked against Aragorn's, but this time it was not in mischief. The heir of Isildur leaned close to his friend the Captain and spoke in a low, urgent voice. "I am out of my reckoning, Boromir. I know not where I go from here. We may be near Sarn Gebir, the deathly rapids, or we may be leagues from there. I have never traveled this far before."

"Nor have I," replied Boromir, craning his neck to try and see ahead. Secretly, he was pleased that this man had at least one shortcoming. Aragorn sighed and frowned worriedly.

"I was hoping you might have some idea how far it was." Aragorn reached behind him for a skin of water, took a sip and then offered it to Boromir. The other man took the proffered drink and handed it back once he was no longer thirsty. The two men let the current carry their boats and the boat behind them for a time, and then suddenly Sam let out a cry. Boromir's head snapped up and he looked at the water. Protruding from the smooth surface were several inky black rocks, sticking up like spines. Beyond that the rippling water churned furiously and violently.

"Back!" roared Boromir. "Row back! This is madness!"

Aragorn yelled back, "Turn the boat around! Turn the boat around!"

Boromir, as he and the two hobbits frantically paddled at the water backwards, caught a fleeting glance at Legolas and Gimli. The Elf's keen eyes were as wide as the hobbit's, and he was furiously swiping at the water with his oar. Even Sam took up a paddle and violently attacked the water as if it were an orc, and the oar his frying pan. Boromir heard a hissing, whistling sound and saw a black bolt descend from the sky. It struck Frodo and bounced off his mail coat, and then flew into Boromir's lap. Even before he saw the black shaft and tattered feathers he knew it was an orc arrow.

"Attack!" he cried. "Attacks from the sky!"

A rainstorm of arrows fell from the sky and pierced the boat around them, their packs and outer layers of clothing. Merry and Pippin picked up Boromir's shield and held it over their heads like an umbrella. The arrows whistled in their ears, terrifying them as they rowed on, not as much caring for the arrows, but only thinking of getting as far back from them as possible. Another arrow fell from the sky, this one piercing Boromir's jerkin and hanging like an adornment from his shoulder. He heard an unearthly wail and felt the water around him ripple with a sudden rush of air, like a wing stroke of a bird. The moon was blotted out with a sudden darkness. Boromir looked anywhere but up. He looked down at the arrow, the arrow sticking from his shoulder and then suddenly he cried out.

__

Pain, blood, ripping and tearing. Arrow really in his shoulder. Swaying, falling. Dizzy, lightheaded with pain. Dying...

"Boromir! Boromir! Wake up!"

Boromir jerked himself back up with a shock to see Pippin frantically beating his arm.

"What? What?" cried the Captain of Gondor.

"Row! We're getting close to the rapids again!" cried Pippin, terrified and frozen with fear. Merry was frantically paddling, but he was too small to move such a great boat. Boromir looked over his shoulder and gasped. Almost crashing into a rock that was looming over the stern of the boat, he grabbed the rock with his arms and hung on for dear life. The boat swung around and jostled the two hobbits into crying out. Merry made a grab for the oar but yelling in horror when it was pulled away by the ripping current and dashed against the rocks. Pippin threw himself down in the bottom of the boats.

"That could be our heads!" he moaned, clinging to his pack in terror. Merry patted his cousin's back with one hand and with the other tried to extricate the other oar from underneath Boromir's knee. Boromir shifted, driving his right knee into the small space in the front of the boat to keep him inside the craft while his fingers sought little crannies in the rock to cling to. He was a great bear of a man, which enabled him to keep the boat more steady in the churning water than if he was smaller. Oh, bother. He was going to have to do it sometime.

"Aragorn!" he yelled. "We need aid!"

He managed to free one hand for a few seconds, and reached behind him to ruffle Pippin's hair. The hobbit looked up at Boromir as the man wrapped his arm back around the rock. He smiled at Pippin reassuringly.

"It will be fine, little one," he grunted, shifting his hold on the rock.

"Boromir!" cried Aragorn. "We are coming back for you!"

Boromir glanced upriver at the two other boats. They had used a length of rope to tie off the boats to a root extending out into the river, and now Gimli was being moved to Aragorn's boat, and Aragorn into Legolas'. Gimli stood fast in his boat and started letting out rope bit by bit. Aragorn and Legolas began moving downstream slowly, holding a coil of rope between them. Legolas was sitting in the back of the boat with the end of the rope wound about his fingers, and his feet braced against the seat. Aragorn leaned over the prow of the boat with the other end of the rope in his hands.

"Boromir!" he yelled. "Can you tie this off?"

Boromir looked up, turning his head sharply against the rock.

"I cannot let go, or we will be lost!" he roared, wincing as his chin scraped roughly against the stone. Pippin sat up determinedly.

"We can tie it!" he cried. "Merry and I will tie it off!"

Aragorn nodded as his boat drew nearer and nearer the stone. "Take this!"

He swung the rope around a few times, and then let it fly. The silvery coil flew through the air and landed against Boromir's broad shoulders. Merry stood up and reached for the little end and pulled. The rope slid down Boromir's back and into Merry's hands. The hobbit handed the end to Pippin, who moved to the back of the rope. He found the small metal hook at the end and tied it tightly. The boat swayed dangerously, and Merry clung to his smaller cousin to see that he would not tumble out of the boat and be dashed against the sharp rocks like their oar.

"Is it tied fast?" yelled Aragorn over the rushing water.

"Tied! Or I'm not a Took!" cried Pippin triumphantly and lay back down in the bed of the boat next to Merry.

"Good job," grunted Boromir, and managed a smile at the two hobbits. Aragorn nodded.

"Boromir!" he called. "On my count! Let go of the rock on three!"

"On three, or right after three?" replied Boromir with his usual sharp humor.

"Right after!"

"Good."

Aragorn crouched down in the prow of the boat, ready to catch Boromir's arms if he were to tumble out. He checked Legolas, who nodded curtly. Aragorn turned back to the other boat.

"One! Two! Three!"

Boromir let his fingers slip out of their holds and was immediately jerked back so violently that his hands scraped badly on the rough stone. He cried out as the skin on his palms was scraped raw. He threw himself down inside the boat and chanced a glance at the palms. Tiny beads of blood were already rising up in the little rows of scratches. Then they were forgotten as Aragorn gripped the side of the boat next to his head. Boromir sat back up and looked at Aragorn. The man was leaning out of his boat, gripping the side of Boromir's boat so tightly his knuckles were turning white. Behind him, Legolas was bracing himself against the seat, the rope wound tightly in his pale hands. The muscles in his arms were pulled taut with the strain. The Elf was gritting his teeth and holding on to Boromir, Merry, and Pippin's lives with one thin rope. The arrows began to whistle around them again. Gimli began to heave back, and both boats began to pull backwards, away from the rapids of Sarn Gebir and the flying arrows and towards safety. Boromir used the remaining paddle and tried to use it to help in moving, rowing frantically and fervently. He felt a great surge of relief when the boat ran aground near the great root. They all managed to pull the boats up against shore, and then collapsed against the sand.

--- --- ---

Yeah, yeah. I messed with that scene. But hey! It was plot! Boromir blacked out...heeheehee. Next chapter is the Argonath, and next will beeeee....dundundun. Amon Hen. THEN the plot will pick up. Oooh...listening to TT. (Just the audio. Picture won't work. *sad*) Théoden: Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountains, like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the West, behind the hills, into Shadow. How did it come to this?

I like Théoden.

Review? I feel lonely. I am a review slug.

Review?


	5. Kings of Old

Shield and Sword

Lea of Mirkwood

Disclaimer: Same as always.

A/N: *sniffle* No, there won't be a Shire. *listening to TT* OH CRAP! HALDIR! Nooooo! Am barad! *sp?* (I'm sitting here in front of the PC, with my hands over my face, sobbing at the mere SOUND of Haldir's death. Imagine what I do in the theatres!)

--- --- ---

Boromir felt that they were nearing the old borders of Gondor. Somehow he knew it. It was like how his brother knew whether Boromir was hurt or not. Some sort of sense that Faramir had been too open about, and had been ridiculed by his father for. Faramir had not learned that Denethor did not want to hear of such things. Boromir had, and had kept his small sense of danger and other things to himself. Not even speaking of it to Faramir. The only person he had ever told was Gandalf. But now Boromir would give anything to be rid of this gift and curse. The vision and premonition had come so strongly he had blacked out, and it nearly cost all the Fellowship their lives. Merry and Pippin worst of all. He was still racked with guilt at the thought that their deaths might be through his making.

"What are you thinking about, Boromir?" asked Merry. Boromir turned around quickly.

"We are nearing the old borders of Gondor," he replied simply.

"Really?" asked Pippin in awe. "How will we know?"

"You will know," chuckled Boromir. "You will know."

--- --- ---

Pippin tipped his head back and stared at the monstrous statues in complete awe and amazement. He tugged on Boromir's sleeve.

"You were right, Boromir!" he said with a smile. "I _do_ know."

Boromir smiled and let his oar rest on his lap. He tilted his head back and just stared at the great guardians of Gondor, Elendil and Anarion. His grey eyes looked up into the heavens, and into the great stone faces. Their reflections shone in his eyes as they moved along the swift current like leaves in a stream. Tall and proud were the kings of old. Boromir looked at their faces and saw likenesses. Proud faces, stern and solid jaw. He glanced at Aragorn's weathered face, and then at the faces of the Argonath. He, Boromir, looked more like these kingly men than Aragorn. Boromir felt a sharp shock of shame at thinking so cruelly about his friend and companion.

"They are so...noble," whispered Merry. "Are you kin to them, Boromir? You look like them."

Boromir could barely tear his eyes away from the face of Elendil to answer Merry. "Distant."

He heard Aragorn softly whisper to Frodo, "Long have I wished to look upon the kings of old...my kin," with such pride that it made Boromir's heart ache to hear it. He had worked his whole life to bring peace to Gondor, and yet this man had lived in the North all his life. No matter what Boromir did, he would always feel that Aragorn could achieve more. Aragorn was the heir to the throne of Gondor, hidden in the North for generations. Boromir's kin and forefathers had lived in Gondor all their lives and kept the lands safe. But Isildur's heir would soon sweep right in and take that task from them. And all would rejoice, even though the Stewards had been better than king in Gondor. Bitterness festered in Boromir's heart as he looked at the Argonath passing by him. But perhaps...if he were to use the Ring to overthrow Sauron, they would welcome him as leader. But no, they were to destroy it, not use it. Destroy. Not use.

But what if they could use it?

What if they could use it?

What if?

--- --- ---

Woo! Wrote this within the next fifteen minutes after finishing chapter four. I'm on a roll! Next I'll write Amon Hen: Part One of Five. That's right. Five whole chapters just about Amon Hen. I've got up to chapter 14 plotted out. Don't you _love_ me? This is possibly (other than yet unposted Théoden fic) the only fic I do not have block in. Do you know why? Because of the lovely plot outline I wrote when I was bursting with ideas. It is the true weapon against the block. PLOT PLANNING.

And I've got Amon Hen: Part Two done. In a notebook, yet to be typed, but done!

Review?


	6. Amon Hen: Part One, Striking Innocence

Shield and Sword

Lea of Mirkwood

Disclaimer: Same as always.

A/N: Anyone else want to nitpick at this story and the way I write?

About the chapter: This is mostly movieverse, at least in the argument...

--- --- ---

"Boromir!" called Aragorn. Boromir quickly looked up.

"Aragorn!" he called back in the exact same tone. The two men exchanged wry grins, and Aragorn shook his head.

"See that little beach up ahead on the right?" he queried. At Boromir's affirmative nod, he continued. "Bring them in there."

Boromir nodded shortly and started to put his oar on the right side of the boat, but moved it to the left when he heard Merry and Pippin start to laugh. Hiding a smile of his own, he turned the boat towards the right shore, turning sharper and sharper as they got closer. He let the other two boats beach first, and pulled up after them. As the boat scraped against the bottom of the river and slid up on the sand, Boromir felt it again.

__

Sharp pain spreading across his chest like little explosions, blooming like flowers. Blood falling to the ground in rivers. Choking, tasting metallic blood and coughing, a racking cough. Shuddering breaths and bone-numbing cold...

Boromir shivered convulsively and gripped the sides of the boat. This time had been the worst. With every movement he made towards the beach and – he looked up at the top of the hill – Amon Hen the shivers got more pronounced. Just as he was moving to ask Aragorn if they could camp elsewhere the shivers and blossoming pain in his chest stopped. Everything went eerily quiet in his mind and all he was aware of was setting down his pack. He looked back at the shore, and watched as Legolas approached Aragorn, whispering something furtively.

Hmph.

Boromir hefted his shield up over his shoulder and stepped into the forest in search of firewood.

--- --- ---

The Captain of Gondor looked around, his eyes flickering about the trees. There! He bent down and picked up a piece of dry wood, putting it in the dip of his shield that he was using as a sort of basket. If only his father could see him now. He would give him a solid clout about the head for using his great shield as a basket. Boromir stepped around a tree again and picked up another branch, setting it on top of the ones already gathered. He looked up and saw a small figure standing by a large stone statue, looking up at the top of it. Frodo. He smiled, remembering when Frodo had refused to eat those few days ago.

"None of us should wander alone," said Boromir in a friendly voice, bending to pick up another stick and pointing at Frodo to emphasize his point. "You least of all. So much depends on you."

Frodo did not respond, but only glared at Boromir. Boromir felt hurt, and furrowed his brow in concern.

"Frodo?" Boromir walked towards the halfling, feeling empathy rush through his veins. "I know why you seek solitude. You suffer," he said gently. "I see it day by day."

His eyes were kindly, and he wanted Frodo to feel that he meant him no harm. But as he was saying this, and wishing him no harm he felt a tugging on his heart, and felt an urge to reach out and rip open the halfling's shirt and take the Ring, yanking it from the chain around his pale little neck.

"Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly?" The fog in his mind consumed his senses. He could see Frodo's keen eyes piercing the fog, reading his mind.

"There are other ways, Frodo," said Boromir casually, desperately. "Other paths we might take."

"I know what you would say," whispered Frodo in a steady, even voice, taking a slow step to the side. "And it would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart."

Boromir felt the fog turn red with his anger and irritation. Warning? "Warning?" said Boromir, frowning and taking a step towards Frodo, who backed away. "Against what?"

Frodo backed off sideways, taking measured, even steps, everything controlled, but Boromir felt his fear. Boromir turned around in a circle, following Frodo as the hobbit backed away. With every step Frodo took, Boromir matched it.

"We are all afraid, Frodo," said Boromir in a low, urgent voice. "But to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have...don't you see, that is _madness!_"

"There is no other way!" said Frodo firmly, stopping. Boromir stopped also, his face contorting furiously. He gritted his teeth and glared at Frodo darkly.

"I ask only for the strength to defend my people!" growled Boromir, throwing his shield to the ground. "If you would but lend me the Ring-"

"No!" said Frodo quickly, stepping backwards. Boromir stepped forward, his mouth open like a predator.

"Why do you recoil, I am no thief!" he said slowly, feeling the fog grow thicker.

"You are not yourself," said Frodo rationally, stepping back again. His movements were slow, and his voice calm, as though he were trying to escape a beast.

Boromir heard a rushing noise in his ears, and white noise fog filled all his senses. He blinked dumbly for a moment, his eyes darkening and his gaze becoming more hateful. Dark, evil eyes.

"What chance do you think you have?" he breathed. With every word he spoke he spoke louder and louder until he was yelling. "They will find you. They will take the ring. _And you will beg for death before the end!"_

Frodo made a decision and started walking away from Boromir, very fast. Boromir's face contorted again and he started to stalk quickly after the hobbit.

"Fool!" he spat. "It is not yours save by unhappy chance! It could have been mine, it should be mine, give it to me!" he roared, bending down and grabbing his shield.

"No!" cried Frodo, seeing his intent. Boromir growled like an animal and yanked hard on Frodo's leg. The hobbit fell down hard, tumbling down a small slope and landing in the leaves, writhing furiously and trying to escape Boromir's booted foot that was now firmly on his shoulder. Frodo cried out as Boromir drove his shoulder into the ground.

"No!" he screamed.

"Give it to me!" howled Boromir. "_Give it to me_!"

Frodo squirmed out from underneath his foot and reached inside his shirt for the Ring. As his finger slowly moved towards the circle of gold Boromir raised the shield high above his head and swung it. The round shield struck Frodo in the temple, knocking him backwards as the halfling slipped on the Ring. He vanished. Boromir let out an animal-like cry and turned around in a circle. He did not see the invisible Frodo drag himself in the hollow underneath a fallen statue and weep, feeling the bruise and scrape on his temple and the ache in his head.

"I see your mind!" he hissed loudly, spinning in a circle, the Captain of Gondor with a wild look in his eyes. "You will take the Ring to Sauron! You will betray us!"

He ran off into the wood.

"Curse you! Curse you! And all the halflings to death and destruction!"

Boromir slipped and fell to the ground, his shield falling beside him and clanking against his sheathed sword. He lay as though dead, but then suddenly convulsed with a sob. He clutched at the leaves and wept furiously.

"Frodo! What have I done!" he cried, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the slight smear of blood on the side of his shield. "Frodo! I'm sorry! A madness took me, but it has passed! Frodo!"

Frodo did not answer, but he slipped off the Ring.

--- --- ---

I would have gotten up another chapter for Morning Rising, but my cousin came over and I had to be hostess.


	7. Amon Hen: Part Two, Living Nightmares

Shield and Sword

Lea of Mirkwood

Disclaimer: Same as always.

Rating: This chapter may be PG-13 for violins on TV.

A/N: ENTER THE PLOT!!!!!!!

--- --- ---

Boromir stood slowly, dashing his arm across his face to wipe away his tears. However, his eyes simply filled up again. He turned back towards where he had come and called again to Frodo.

"Frodo! Please-" he cried, weeping. "Forgive me! Frodo!"

But Frodo was laying in the hollow under a statue, and had slipped into blackness. Boromir looked around, but the halfling was out of his sight. He shivered, and a choked sob escaped his lips.

"Oh, what have I done?" he whispered. Running back to where he had fallen, he picked up his shield and looked at the edge with horrified eyes. He ran one callused finger across the metal edging and looked at the blood. A fresh wave of sobs racked his body.

"I have killed him!" he gasped. "Sweet Eru, I have killed him!"

Boromir frantically wiped the edge of the shield against the ground, weeping furiously as he did so. He threw the strap back over his shoulder and ran back to where he struck Frodo, feeling in the leaves for an invisible body. He found none, and became ever more frantic and terrified.

"I have killed him!" he wept. "And now the wraiths will find him and the Ring...for he is in the shadow world. I have failed them all. All, all, all. I have failed. It is my fault if all the world is covered in darkness. It is mine! The fault is mine!"

Boromir suddenly felt a wave of terror so strong he stood up and backed away.

"I will run!" he cried. "I will leave- no...I must go. I must tell Aragorn what I have done."

He turned away and ran from Amon Hen as though he were followed by the forces of darkness. As he was running, however, he heard the sound of cries. Stopping dead in his tracks, he peered through the trees, trying to discern which direction they came from. To his left and front. Changing his course, he ran faster towards the cries, determined to save them.

For he had recognized the cries of Merry and Pippin.

--- --- ---

Boromir found them, at least two miles away from where he had been before. They were running away from a band of Uruk-hai, stopping every few feet to cut off a few of the foul hands. As he grew closer he saw one large Uruk raise its battle axe over its head, taking long strides towards two hapless hobbits. He was close enough to see the terror in their faces, but not yet close enough to help. He took a deep breath and let out a roar of fury that made the Uruk pause for a single moment, long enough for Boromir to leap in and grab its axe by the hilt. Swinging it around, Boromir wrenched it from the foul creature's hands and slammed the sharp edge into its stomach. Merry cheered and grabbed onto Boromir's belt for a brief second, tugging supportively. The gesture of trust brought tears to Boromir's eyes.

"Go!" he cried hoarsely. "Go, quickly!"

The two hobbits nodded shortly and started running away from the band of Uruk-hai. There were nearly forty of the foul beasts, all snarling and growling at the three companions like foul beasts. Pippin snarled back at them and swung his little blade threateningly, while Merry picked up stones and threw them. Boromir fought off another beast, driving his sword into its side and pushing the body away with his shield on his right arm. Boromir was left-handed, and a great swordsman as well. He beat off another Uruk, taking off his head while waving at the hobbits to run. When he clove the next one's head in two, he began to realize that it was hopeless. Desperately, he clawed at his waist for the Horn of Gondor. Bringing it to his lips, he blew a long deep note that echoed through the forest like a wave. Only more orcs came. He blew it again, the horn-call of Gondor. It echoed through the hills. Only more orcs came. Boromir felt a great weariness settle in his bones as he brought his great broadsword down on another Uruk-hai. Black blood spurted from where he had struck the foul creature. He heard the high voices of his two hobbit friends as they attacked a smaller Uruk-hai. Suddenly Boromir heard a dreaded sound, the gnashing of teeth and growling that had been haunting his dreams for endless nights. He hefted his shield up with one hand and snarled at a tall Uruk, blocking its blow with the round shield. It roared at him and he roared back. One thought rang in his aching head.

__

I'm going to die today.

He gripped his sword tighter and charged another attacker.

"Go!" he bellowed at the hobbits. "Run!"

A great sense of peace filled him. Of course. He was going to die. The Uruk-hai swung a wicked blade down at him, and Boromir raised his shield to block it. The blade bit into the metal edge and rang back. While the creature raised its sword up to strike him, Boromir drove his sword up to the hilt into its belly. Rocks flew all around him, and he turned to still see the hobbits.

"Go!" he cried, motioning for them to go on. "Go!"

Suddenly the world shifted and Boromir felt a wave of nausea wash over him. The dreams...the visions...

He was in them.

As he was turned away from the battle, motioning to the hobbits, he felt a sharp tug and took a lurching step backward. He saw Merry and Pippin staring at him in horror. Pain ripped through his left shoulder and his entire left arm fell useless to his side, in too much pain to move. He looked down and saw the black shaft of an arrow protruding from his shoulder. He felt his muscles ripping apart where the stone head of the arrow was tearing his flesh. He gasped for breath, small breathless moans of pain escaping his lips.

"Boromir!" wailed Pippin. The cry broke his shock and he switched his sword to his right hand, holding his shield with his left arm that was nearly numb with pain. He let out a war cry and swung his sword in a wide arc, slicing open the stomach of a nearby Uruk-hai. It fell to the ground, blood spurting from the wound with every breath it took, like wine from a cask. Boromir's eyes searched the clearing for an Uruk with a longbow. Finally he saw him, his nemesis, standing off to the side, aloof, tall and fierce. Boromir cried out and thrust his sword forward, puncturing an Uruk's lung. As he turned in a circle, keeping the Uruk-hai at bay, he heard the snarling and groaning of wood as the longbow was bent back again. Boromir heard the noise and turned around, weakly lifting his shield to block the arrow. An Uruk-hai behind him swung a blade and it sliced into his thigh. His leg buckled, but he kept his shield before him. The arrow left the bow and drove through his shield, passing through the wood and driving into his forearm. If his shield had not been there it would have pierced his heart. The Captain of Gondor looked down in horror at his arm. He saw the place next to the shield where the arrow came through, pinning his arm to his father's shield. But far more terrifying to him was the place in the inside of his forearm where he saw the bloody head of the arrow, all the way impaling his sword arm. He looked down at his limp hand and watched as it filled up with his own crimson blood, spilling through his fingers. He gritted his teeth and tried not to cry out. The pain was overwhelming. He watched as the world swam before his eyes. His left arm with the shield hung uselessly at his side as he swung his blade again, slicing off an orc's arm. It fell to the ground, shuddering and twitching as it stained the leaves black with blood. Boromir raised his eyes and looked into the blank eyes of the statue near him. A man of Gondor, possibly his forefather, gazed blankly and unseeingly down at the Captain of Gondor, son of the Steward.

"Boromir!"

"No!"

Boromir heard the cries of the hobbits and turned. Two monstrous Uruk-hai were picking up his two friends. He watched one clout Pippin on the side of the head and throw him over his shoulder. Merry clawed and pounded on the creature's arms.

"Boromir!" cried Merry, stretching his arms out to his friend in a plea for aid. But as Boromir took a step in their direction, another arrow pierced his side. As a haze of pain settled over his eyes he reached to his side for the Horn of Gondor but found it cloven in two. He fell to his knees as the remaining Uruk-hai ran around him, following the two who had taken Merry and Pippin. He was forgotten. Lost. Blood poured from his maimed arm and soaked through his clothes. He coughed laboriously and tasted blood.

I'm going to die today.

Boromir's eyes closed and he slumped to the ground.

--- --- ---

Is this a cliffhanger? Why I believe it is! Is Boromir dead? Is FRODO dead? All from that little decision. Who can guess what that decision was?


	8. Amon Hen: Part Three, Hurried Conversati...

A/N: This is the revised version of this chapter. Thanks to Daughter of Olorin for pointing out my mistake about chronological order. *smacks head* Well, I deserve a real smack upside the head for that lapse in judgement. *smack* And by the way, as a little spoiler thing…but not really a spoiler at all…

The answer to all your questions and begging about "Can Boromir live? Please?" IT'S IN THE SUMMARY. You really don't need to beg me. Boromir can't really struggle to regain his life and quest if DEAD. Well, regain life, but that's not what I meant. 

Shield and Sword

Lea of Mirkwood

Disclaimer: Same as always.

A/N: Please, please, please. I need some help here. How can I change the beginning here to make it seem more logical for Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli to leave Boromir without a proper burial? I need suggestions. Desperately. I feel what I have now is so out of character and unrealistic. ARGH! Help! Help! Ayuda me! And tell me if I'm overdoing the Sam-Speech.

--- --- ---

"Aragorn, he is dead. Do you not see the blood is drained from his face? Even a good dwarvish medic would not bring him back."

"No, Gimli. He cannot-" A pause, a broken sob. "He swore to me we would see the White Tower. I cannot leave him for dead."

"Aragorn, he has passed. _Si bado, no círar_. He is gone. It pains me to say it, but he is gone...forever."

"We must leave him, now. There is no time, Aragorn. The Uruk-hai are just ahead of us."

"We must bury him, Gimli. He is a son of Gondor, there is no way we could leave him here like carrion."

"Aragorn! Leave a cairn on top of his chest, the spirits of darkness will dare not touch him. There is no time to give him proper respect as is due to him. Take his horn, if you will. Bury that for him, but let us hurry on, or we will have two hobbits to bury as well!"

A kiss on the brow and a tear on the cheek. "Be at peace, my friend. Son of Gondor. I will not fail you."

--- --- ---

Sam crouched down by his master, bitter tears streaming down his face.

"Frodo!" he cried, gently placing his hands on either side of Frodo's pale face. "Oh! Frodo!" 

He leaned over and lightly laid two fingers at the hollow of Frodo's throat and felt a pulse there, like a faint little butterfly's wings beating against his fingers.

"Frodo," he whispered. "You're alive!"

With one of his stout hands he lightly brushed the dark hair away from Frodo's forehead to look at the cut. It was wide and shallow, but there was a wicked looking bruise surrounding the bloody area. Near the center it was yellow, but at the edges faded to a dark purple. Sam laid his master's head in his lap and pulled off a strip of fabric from the edge and bound it around Frodo's head. Frodo sighed softly and seemed to be less in pain, or perhaps that was only Sam's wish.

He did not know how long he sat beaming, with tears of joy flowing down his face, but he did know that after some endless time Frodo's eyelids fluttered and then finally opened.

"Sam," he whispered hoarsely. "Sam. Where are the others?"

"Gone, Mr. Frodo," replied Sam brokenly. "They left us. We're the only ones left."

"That's good," said Frodo, and started to sit up. A wave of nausea hit him and he quickly fell back. "I was going off alone anyway."

"Alone, Mr. Frodo! Now, that won't do." Sam folded his arms sternly. "You can't be going anywhere without your Sam."

"I must, Sam, I must!" said Frodo gently, pulling himself to a sitting position. After steadying himself there he pulled himself to his knees, and then to his feet, leaning heavily on the stone statue for support.

"I must go on alone. There is no other way," he explained, slowly making his way towards the water. Sam cried out and leapt to his feet.

"Now stop right there, sir!" He rushed to Frodo's side and grabbed his master's arm tightly. "You can't be going anywhere like that, much less to Mordor. You just lean against me and if you really want to go off alone, I'll just come along with you. You'd trip over your own feet again like this and then we'd really be in a pickle."

"I can't, Sam!" cried Frodo and pulled away. "You'll be killed right away. I can't lead you to that!"

"But Mr. Frodo, you're not leading. I'm following."

A small crystal tear ran down Frodo's cheek as he looked at the grim determination in Sam's eyes. "Oh, Sam."

"I made a promise, Mr. Frodo!" cried Sam, grabbing Frodo's shoulders. "A promise. 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee!' And I said to Gildor* 'Me? No, never!' And I won't! I don't mean to. I don't mean to."

Frodo's chin trembled with suppressed tears and just as he was about to reply, he nearly collapsed. Sam quickly caught him under the arms.

"See, Mr. Frodo? You can't do without me."

"No, Sam," murmured Frodo, feeling the pain in his head increase with every heartbeat. "I don't suppose I can."

--- --- ---

*EAT IT. T'was Gildor, not Gandalf.

NOTE! THIS IS NOT SLASH! NOR WILL IT BE CONSIDERED SLASH. NOT SLASH. MALE BONDING AND COMPANIONSHIP. NOT SLASH NOT SLASH. I am not opposed to slash. In fact, I have a liking for the odd slash story, (coughcoughsaturdaynightcontestsbeckycoughcoughcough) but still this is not slash. I do not think slash is icky. It can be cute, when plausible and not just a shagfest. But this is not slash. Someday I may write a slash. Someday I may not. But whatever, just know this is NOT SLASH. Ah, whatever. You probably aren't even reading this, just thanking the holy muses of doom that I didn't decide to kill Frodo. But what about Mr. Bomir? (Yes, I meant to write Bomir. It's an inside joke betwixt Zeech and I. And several others.)

Feedback appreciated. Ideas on rewriting beginning? Did I overdo the Sam-speech? Tell me, please! Only through feedback can I get better!


	9. Amon Hen: Part Four, Unexpected Aid

Shield and Sword

Lea of Mirkwood

Disclaimer: Same as always.

A/N: Do not attempt to use this medical stuff on yourself. It would not be wise to do so. DO NOT. This is only a story, FICTION, not a medical handbook.

--- --- ---

The sun was baking, shining down through the trees and laying dappled shadows on Boromir's face that darted and dipped like spirits as the leaves moved. He lay cold and bleeding under the great tree, his body cradled like a babe between the roots. Their firm embrace kept him still, and he had not moved more than a finger's breadth for two days. He felt the warmth of the sun on his cold skin, and it stirred him to awakening. His eyelids fluttered, and then opened.

__

What happened?

Where am I?

In a rush, every memory of Amon Hen flooded back to him, and a whimper of pain and shame escaped his chapped lips. Blood pouring down his arm, through his fingers, onto the forest floor. He weakly lifted his head a few inches and saw the arrow protruding from his shoulder. He gasped and nearly slipped into darkness again, but took a deep breath and tried to move. Immediately a spurt of blood flowed from the wound on his shoulder, like wine. He tried to stop the blood, but realized that the weight of the arrow was pulling at his flesh whenever he moved. The heavy feathered end dragged down if he sat up, and ripped into him further. There was no question about it. He would have to break it off.

"Curse this arrow, curse the orcs," growled Boromir as he grasped the shaft of the arrow. He gritted his teeth and bent the wood. Pain shot through his shoulder, and he nearly let it go. Almost...

He tried to bring his left arm up to help, but the tendons were so badly ripped he could not move it. Just then he felt the arrow scrape against bone. Ignoring the excruciating agony, he braced the tip of the arrow against the bone in his body and pulled. The shaft broke neatly in half, about the length of his finger still sticking out of the wound. Blood covered his hands and chest, and it was all he could do to keep from passing out from sheer pain.

"Elendil," he prayed. "Please..."

He did not know what it was he was asking, whether it was to take away the pain, let him die, let him live...what? Boromir, Captain of Gondor and the sword-arm of the White Tower, raised his good hand to his eyes and wept.

--- --- ---

"Well, this is a fine pickle I've found myself in," muttered Melanwen as she shuffled across the water, trying to let her feet push aside sharp rocks and scare away stinging fish, rather than stepping full on them. "Far from home here, well, perhaps not so far, and look at this! Wet skirt, wet boots, and still no food. Ah, more's the pity. Why I ever decided to come and live here is far beyond my reckoning." She frowned at the water sloshing at her ankles. "Particularly now."

She stepped out of the water and shook out her skirts, smiling at the clear blueness of the middle of the Anduin.

"Ah, Great River. So lovely and blue in the center. Pity you couldn't see to giving a little clarity to the edges, hm, instead of all this blasted mud!"

She pushed her hair back from her face. It was only grey at the temples, surprising for a woman who was four-and-fifty. She kept up her chatter as she walked along the woods, lifting her skirts to her knees to keep it from being snagged and ripped on the forest floor.

Melanwen, or rather Melly, chattered to herself to keep from going insane. She lived alone in a small cottage, with only a cat for company.

"I feel so lonely sometimes, I feel like I could just explode in on myself. It's not a nice feeling. Oh my."

Melanwen halted suddenly, staring all around her.

"What happened here?"

Tall creatures with tortured, mutilated faces covered the floor before her. They were sliced in two, stabbed, all around her their tar-colored blood covered the soft leaves. She stepped back in terror at the eyes, yellow, red, green, staring blankly at the sky or at her. A cry of horror escaped her lips at the horrific sight. At her cry, she heard something replying. A soft moan of pain from behind the tree. Melanwen, her curious nature overriding her wisdom that told her to run, run, run, walked over. For once her chatter was silenced.

"Oh, Melly," she whispered to herself. "This is a fine thing. I am possibly the stupidest woman to ever walk this land..."

Peering around the corner of the tree she saw a tall man, a great bear of a man, laying in between two roots, a cairn on his still rising and falling chest. The stump of an arrow protruded from his shoulder, and a shield was pinned to his arm by an arrow through his forearm. He shifted his head when he heard her gasp, and keen grey eyes looked into her brown ones. His lips formed one word. Please.

Melanwen fell to her knees beside his prone body and took his face in her hands.

"Dear Eru," she whispered. "What devilry is this?"

A faint smile crossed his lips, but pain clouded his eyes again and he moaned, turning his face away from her. She studied it for a moment, seeing strong, noble features and a carefully trimmed beard. The face of a noble lord, wise and fair.

"Goodness," said Melanwen, and he looked back at her muzzily. She smiled reassuringly. "We need to get you to my house, don't we? Yes, we certainly do. Where is your pack?"

At his hazy look of confusion, she frowned.

"Come now, you are far from Gondor, and certainly wouldn't come out here without a pack, would you? Where is it?"

His lips moved soundlessly, and though Melanwen leaned her ear next to his face, she heard nothing.

"Oh, this is ridiculous." She fumbled at her waist and found her flask of water. She lightly dribbled some of the liquid on his lips and then wiped caked blood from his mouth with her sleeve.

"Beach," he croaked. "Pack...boat..."

Melanwen listened carefully and nodded. "Very well. On the beach, there is a pack and a boat. That's good news. I suppose I can take you back up the river then."

At his look of shock, she shook her head. "No, not straight up the river, up the shallows at the side."

The man looked even more horrified, and tilted his head weakly at the field of corpses. Melanwen stifled a shudder and shook her head.

"No, I just came from there, and there are no more."

He still looked worried, and a little like Melanwen's son when he was afraid to do something, so she impulsively leaned over and kissed the man's brow, cold with sweat.

"There, come now. You'll be all right here. Everything will be fine."

--- --- ---

Feedback? How did this chapter go?


	10. This PARTICULAR arrow should be removed ...

Shield and Sword

Lea of Mirkwood

Disclaimer: Same as always.

A/N: Do not attempt to use this medical stuff on yourself. It would not be wise to do so. DO NOT. This is only a story, FICTION, not a medical handbook. Also, I would like to stress that this is not a romance. And there will certainly be no romance with Melanwen. Melly is over ten years older than Boromir. I hoped that would sort of push away the romance idea, as well as describing her as having greying hair.

--- --- ---

Melanwen realized she must have looked quite ridiculous, dragging the man from the river to her house, a good quarter mile. She had dragged him, in the boat, over grass, roots and leaves. Now she was sitting next to him on the bed, trying to remove the arrow from his shoulder. He was perfectly awake and perfectly lucid, and was making suggestions as to how to remove this _particular_ kind of arrow.

"This arrow has a sort of barb on the end," he said, and inclined his head towards his left arm. "Like that other one. You can see the way it pulls back if you look at the one in my arm."

Melanwen shook her head and concentrated on the one in his shoulder. "I would like to avoid looking at that one until I have to remove it, thank you. The bleeding is stopped, so there's no need to look at it right now. If you would just be quiet for a moment, I could check to see how deep the arrow is."

He nodded. "As long as you don't pull it out without telling me you will."

Melanwen nodded and bent over his bare shoulder. Prodding the flesh with her fingers, she pretended to see how deep it was imbedded, while really trying to tell if there were any major organs near the hole that could be ripped. Boromir clenched his teeth and, in Melanwen's opinion, acted far too much in pain for the simple poke. She had already given him half of the pain-numbing herbs in her house, and a quarter of that amount, she recalled clearly, had taken away almost all the pain of birthing her first child. She sat back up straight and looked him in the eye.

"You still haven't told me your name."

He shifted, at least as much as he could shift in his predicament. "Boromir."

"Really?" she asked, slowly creeping her hand towards his wound. "Where do you live?"

"I lived in Minas Tirith."

Melanwen carefully wrapped her fingers around the shaft of the arrow, making sure it didn't move a hair's breadth. She racked her brain for more questions.

"How old are you?"

"I'm forty-one."

"Really?"

As he nodded, Melanwen quickly pressed her other hand to his chest, bracing herself, then with one hard yank, pulled the arrow out with a sickening _schloop_ noise. Boromir yelled an incomprehensible stream of words, which gradually petered out to a steady stream of curses. Melanwen pressed a cloth to the wound, stopping the blood flow with the heel of her hand. Keeping pressure on the wound, she looked with amazement at Boromir.

"I've never heard most of those words before."

Boromir exhaled slowly in a hiss between his teeth. "You told me you-"

"I know I did. I lied." At his look of fury, she raised her eyebrows. If her hands had been free, she would have held them up to ward off his waves of anger. "If I had told you, you would have tensed up, tightening the muscles around it, and making you hurt even more."

Boromir blinked at her painfully. "That hurt."

"It should hurt. If it didn't, it would mean I broke your spine dragging you along in that boat."

Boromir let out a hoarse laugh. "What now?"

Melanwen reached down beside the bed and came back with a handful of flour, which she put on the wound, then replaced the cloth. Then she looked back at him and addressed his question.

"I get the one in your arm. This one should be both easier and harder."

"Which ways?" he asked worriedly, breathing heavily.

"Well," said Melanwen, pulling a serrated knife from her skirt. "It's easier to get the actual arrow out, because I don't have to drag that barb back through your flesh. I can just cut the shaft around it. Harder, because I have to bandage the thing. Your bones are broken there, and so are some of the tendons."

She turned to his arm. The shield was sitting on the bed with Boromir's arm laying across it, still pinned together. A small pool of blood was collecting in the bowl of the shield, which made Melanwen slightly nauseous.

"All right then, Boromir of the White City," she said. "Hold still."

She reached down and held the shield steady and then grabbed the shaft of the arrow between the shield and Boromir's sword-arm. She placed the side of the knife against the wooden shaft, then began to saw. The small shavings fell down, light colored, and floated on the surface of the blood. Once she was done, it was almost a paste of sawdust and blood. Melanwen gently took Boromir's arm in her hand, and grabbed the head of the arrow. Then she slowly pulled the arrow out by the head. The moment the wood wasn't stanching the blood, the arm began to drip through the hole in his leather gauntlet. Melanwen quickly unbuckled the heavy leather strips and took it off, laying it aside. Then she pulled his chain mail away from his forearm and then rolled his sleeve back until she could clearly see the bloody wound.

"How is it?" whispered Boromir, his voice ragged. Melanwen looked up at him.

"It...it's a clean wound." She checked the hole. "The bone broke cleanly, but that's all I can tell for now."

Another handful of flour, on both sides, and then Melanwen took a long strip of cloth and wrapped it over and over the wound, pausing to lay a flat piece of metal in as a brace on both sides. When it was all wrapped around, she tied it off with twine.

"Boromir?" she asked softly. "Are you all right?"

He nodded. "I was just thinking," he said softly. "I should tell you I'm the son of the Lord Denethor."

Melanwen went as pale as her patient. "You...you are the heir?"

"No!" cried Boromir in consternation. "I am no heir. There is but one heir, and that is the heir of Isildur, who yet lives..." He stopped, realizing he was not sure Aragorn was living. "I am not he, I am merely the son of the Steward."

Melanwen laughed, and color returned to her cheeks. "Heir of Isildur! There is no such person. He is as much a legend as Elves."

Boromir shook his head. "No, my lady Melanwen, he is real. I have traveled with him. He is coming to claim his throne. You must accept him."

"All right!" said Melanwen, pushing Boromir back down on the bed, keeping him still. "I accept him, my Lord."

"Boromir."

"Lord Boromir."

"Just Boromir."

"Lord Just Boromir."

Lord Just Boromir smiled wryly and rested his head back on the pillow. "The Elves are real too, Melly. Later I'll tell you about it."

Melanwen smiled back as Boromir sighed and went to sleep.

--- --- ---

NOT ROMANCE.

*smiles happily and thinks of her Young Guns DVDs* Josiah "Doc" Scurlock...

I'm sharing the joy of Doc! Share the joy of reviews to me! God, he's hot...


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